


long before

by sanity_not_in_tact



Series: Tony's (actual) A+ Parenting [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcoholism, Drugs, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Weed, and a few vague flashbacks, and solidarity, honestly not realistic but w/e, i will include actual specific content warnings at the start, it's mostly about coping, jeez don't be nasty, like not the cinematic kind, lol, look it's all fairly implicit but just to be sure, mentions of some of the PTSD affects of CSA survival, most scenario-dependent trigger warnings listed in notes at the start of each chapter, not slash fiction!!!, nothing too explicit really, oh and other mental illness things uh, the ptsd kind lol, tony is tha best in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-07-20 14:32:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16139228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanity_not_in_tact/pseuds/sanity_not_in_tact
Summary: ... Such a comfortable silence, as Peter hadn't ever had with anybody else. Aunt May loved him to pieces, but she didn't have the same burdens. She was sympathetic, but couldn't really understand."If it still affects you," Tony said, after a moment, "it isn't stupid."...I love the connection i personally have with other mentally ill people, how we understand each other... i don't know. solidarity is the shit. that's what this is about. and a bit of father/son type dynamics because you know, daddy issues. gotta project somehow *nervous laughter*





	1. skip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings:
> 
> mentions of r*pe and CSA. discussions of resulting mental health issues and briefly of court cases relating to the offence. discussions of perps. author is not a survivor. nothing graphic in this chapter. anxiety, flashbacks (not descriptive), panic attacks. brief mentions of vague feelings resulting from repressed memories (eg feeling fantom sensations and recalling fragmented imagery). references to torture which took place in canon. 
> 
> refer to other chapter start notes for more TW information. if you wish me to list anything else, or tag something in the work description, feel free to let me know.
> 
> be safe

Peter and Tony spent a lot of time together. Well, as much as their schedules would allow. Peter had school and homework and patrols. Tony had meetings and paperwork and the occasional time-consuming, self-destructive alcoholic episode. Pepper wasn't there at the moment. After Thanos and the world ending, then coming back, she'd run off on a holiday, leaving her duties to FRIDAY. She said she needed space to recover and think about her relationship with Tony, her position as CEO. She'd been gone for months, without a word, but she sent out a beacon to assure him that she was okay every now and then. Tony had fully accepted the possibility that she might not come back, by now.

 

So, they really only had each other. Bruce was a companion for Tony, sometimes, but the air of disapproval that the man always brought with him made him uncomfortable.

 

From the outside, the connection between the two was mostly inexplicable. Not on Peter's part, he'd always seemed to project his longing for a father figure onto Tony. But Tony hadn't really shown that much interest in spending quality time with the kid until now.

 

Well, they sort of understood each other. The two of them had only just began to scratch the surface, but they had a lot in common.

 

It was a Saturday. Peter would normally be on patrol, but his leg was in a cast on account of an unfortunate accident with a vibranium-enforced front door to a millionaire hitman's bunker-ready city apartment. What was it with rich people and apocalypse-paranoia? Got a lot to lose, he guessed. In any case, there he sat, half listening to Tony Stark rambling on about some obscure piece of technology which would be completely useless for Peter to know the first thing about.

 

"... and the repulsers never actually functioned properly, which is why my father started prototyping the Arc Reactor. Of course, even the blueprints were too big for something like that, at the time, but his legacy continues- Are you listening?"

 

Peter started, and shook his head, "Nope."

 

Stark chuckled, "Nobody home?"

 

"Yeah, flashbacks."

 

"Ah," that sort of remark wasn't so unusual in this workshop. They both had a lot of baggage, it was no secret. Tony fell silent, letting the kid pull himself out of it when he was ready. Intuitively, FRIDAY brought up a silent, inconspicuous heart monitor up on Tony's desktop, just so it was blocked from Peter's view by his shoulder. Peter was well enough on the way to tachycardia, but it looked to be gradually evening out.

 

"Wanna talk about it?" he said, after some time.

 

"Maybe in a minute." Peter shook his head, as if to dislodge something, to clear the mist. He sighed and got back to work, focusing on the sensations of the fabrics and course wiring under his fingertips. That helped. The smells in the room were very distinct, nothing like those in his memories. That gave him something to grip on to.

 

"Hey, Tony?"

 

"Yeh, Pete," The man said, gently.

 

"Did anything happen to you, you know, before the whole thing in Afghanistan?"

 

"What do you mean, kid?"

 

"You know, like, anything before that that messed you up, the same way super-stuff has."

 

Tony looked lost in thought, "Yeah, I was privileged growing up, and then especially as a young adult, but not necessarily fortunate. Why do you ask?"

 

"'cos, I do. You know, have stuff. That happened before I changed. Seems kinda stupid now, after everything."

 

Tony nodded at that, "Yeah I get that. The world ending gives you perspective."

 

The two fell into silence again. Such a comfortable silence, as Peter hadn't ever had with anybody else. Aunt May loved him to pieces, but she didn't have the same burdens. She was sympathetic, but couldn't really understand.

 

"If it still affects you," Tony said, after a moment, "it isn't stupid." He was almost amazed at his own words. He'd changed a lot, since that awful year which harboured his first experiences with panic attacks. It was hard to believe that that was the first time he experienced panic and flashbacks. Maybe he had already, but didn't know what to call it.

 

"There's stuff that happened, that I don't remember." Peter said, almost too quietly for Tony to hear. "They say that kids sometimes shut out memories, or make up stories, to cover up bad things."

 

"So I hear," Tony said. "Sam said something about that, I forget. Something about children of war. I don't think I've ever forgotten stuff. People cope differently, I suppose."

 

It's a special thing, between people who understand each other well enough to talk about these things almost casually. It's far more comforting than the emotional mess of therapy or talking to family members. Whether it's healthy or not, who can say? Maybe this is why group therapy is such a popular tactic.

 

Peter blinked rapidly, trying to rid the sting of exhaustion and stress and bad feelings from his eyes.

 

"There was a kid named Skip," Peter began, and Tony picked up on the narrative tone, "who babysat me when I was little. Fucked up that a 16-year-old could do that to someone, especially a kid way younger than him, but apparently he assaulted me. I told Aunt May that he was making me do things I didn't want to, and that he did things with my body without permission. Jesus, I can't even imagine how much that must have scared her. I just hope I never actually remember any of it."

 

Tony sighed, releasing a breath he'd been holding. He removed the safety glasses he was wearing and rubbed his eyes, suddenly drained. "Yeah, I hope so, too. Remembering isn't fun, believe me."

 

Peter looked up at him, and then quickly away. "You, too?"

 

"Yeah. Remember Obadiah Stane, the one who ran the company for me while I was a kid and blew up in a spectacular fight-off above the arc reactor prototype?"

 

"Oh, yeah. Never liked him, he was creepy." Peter remembered him from the news. He scrunched up his nose, "It was him? Gross. Your Dad trusted him."

 

Tony shrugged. "I got him back in the end. I was his puppet for years, though. Afraid of him right 'til the end, even as a grown man."

 

Peter met the man's eyes again. There was understanding there, even though he didn't remember what happened to him, and Tony did. The subconscious still holds on to things. The flashback earlier, that was of some sort of looming figure. He remembered something pressing on his shoulder, for some reason, and the smell of Aunt May's sitting room before she moved.

 

"Anyway," Tony said, "you might get the memories back someday. Make sure you're not alone, when you do. _If_ you do. Deal?"

 

"Yeah," Peter said, "deal."


	2. memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter remembers. Check TWs below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one has flashbacks, and descriptions of anxiety and panic attacks, dissociation, and hallucinations (specifically feeling the sensation of someone's hands on skin). It isn't graphic, but it may be triggering for CSA survivors or people with PTSD symptoms. s/h scars (it isn't talked about by the characters in this chapter, though). vomiting. hypothermia. intrusive thoughts (kinda), memories of some of the things peter said when he was being abused. the feeling of being dirty (physically dirty) is something some survivors experience and it's described here. descriptions of fragmented imagery and sensations. self-abuse by showering in dangerous temperatures (is that even a trigger warning? better safe than sorry). bullying.
> 
> stay safe.

He didn't back down on that deal.

 

He guessed he'd seen this coming. That flashback in Stark's workshop wasn't the first, or the last. He'd had a confrontation with Flash (interesting name-sake, given the context) a week ago, and the kid had managed to push him up against his locker at some point, by the shoulder, triggering a full-blown panic attack. It was almost funny, the kid hadn't had to deliver a single blow to land Peter in the nurse's office. Flash was dumb-struck, and actually got in trouble for his bullshit, for once.

 

Also, apparently saying, "No! Please don't touch me," in a horrifyingly desperate tone wasn't normal and spooked a few people. Peter was a bit mortified, but he really didn't think it was that unusual of a thing to say when you're being shoved up against a locker. He really must have sounded like a wreck.

 

He could remember a lot more now than he was used to. A lot of it came back earlier that afternoon. May was out working nights as usual, so he was in the living room sitting at the table, shaking violently. He thought he might throw up. Or crap himself. Or something else equally disgusting and de-moralising. So he quickly stripped, leaving his boxers on for comfort and climbed into the shower.

 

He forced his head under the too-cold water, and squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn't going to put the temperature up. He needed to feel the cold sting, and had prepared for the likelihood of having an impulse to scold his skin, so decided it was the safer option. The cold water helped with the nausea.

 

Another dark image. It was strange, he remembered the exposed bulb of the ceiling light blinding him, yet the images in his memory seemed oddly dark, as if someone had played around with the colour balance.

 

He caught himself about to scream – he was sure he just felt a clammy hand on his hip. He dug the heal of his palm into his eye socket, and crawled onto the tiled shower floor. He'd read somewhere that he should try not to scratch or scrub too hard. Bad habit. He could feel the itch for it now, begging him to wash away invisible grime coating his skin. This was awful, and it dawned on him that he might become a danger to himself, if he stayed on his own much longer.

 

 _'Make sure you're not alone, when you do._ If _you do. Deal?'_

 

"Deal," Peter said again, aloud, to no-one.

 

He reached up blindly behind him, and shut the water off, so he could think. May's at work. _I'm cold._ Tony's probably busy, but he'd understand, right? _Stop touching me._ God, what if he gave the old man a flashback or something? Still, he needed to call someone. _I don't want to._ Yeah, he didn't want to. Didn't want to get up, pick up the phone, try and sound normal calling Tony at a time like this. _Please, I don't want to do that._ Peter gritted his teeth and picked himself up. He didn't bother to dry off, just dragged the freezing cold water across the floor.

 

He stood there, over in his bedroom, gripping the phone Tony gave him and spacing out for a while. He was shivering violently, but didn't notice until he sneezed, the motion knocking the fog out of his brain. He hit speed dial. The phone only rang twice before Tony picked up.

 

"Hey, kid. What's up?"

 

Peter didn't respond, still staring at a little prick in the plaster on his wall where he'd stuck a thumbtack once.

 

"Pete, you there?"

 

"Yep," Peter's voice broke a little, and he cleared his throat, "I'm here."

 

"You sound roughed-up, are you alright?"

 

"Nope." Peter said. He tried to think of the simplest way to get the message across, but his brain was sluggish. Tony must be panicking a little but he was patiently silent on the other end. "Memories."

 

There was a moment before Tony answered, "Pete, do you remember Skip?"

 

Peter's breathing picked up from the sound of that name. "Hm-hmm." Was all he could manage to articulate, squeezing the sound out between laboured breaths.

 

"You at May's? Is she there?"

 

 _Short breath,_ "Yep," _another one_ "and nope."

 

"Already on my way. Hold on, kid. Just for a few more minutes. I'm going to keep talking to you on my way over, ok?"

 

"Uh-huh."

 

"Cool. The phone's reading your pulse. Breathe, Peter, you can do it. Focus on nothing else but my voice, and breathing. You're also reading hypothermic. Are you cold?

 

 _Yes, I'm freezing_ Peter realised, upon inspection. He was shaking to his core, and couldn't feel his extremities. He numbly walked over to the couch, and grabbed the throw, pulling it around himself.

 

"Pete?"

 

"I got a blanket."

 

"Good. Stay there. Don't scratch, keep breathing."

 

_How does he know, that my skin feels like its covered in grease and grime, as if I could rake my fingers over it and scratch it all off? How does he know? Oh god i'm panicking._

 

"Pete, you're panicking. I'm dodging buildings here, work with me."

 

_Yeah, I'm panicking._

 

The thought didn't exactly stop him from panicking.

 

"Breathe, Peter."

 

_Yes, breathing._

 

He took in a shaky breath, and his lungs stung.

 

The next thing he knew, Stark was kneeling in front of him.

 

"... Jesus, Pete, you're shaking." He held out his hand, in offering. Peter took it. Tony placed his other hand on top. His skin was so warm. It was grounding. It didn't feel like Skip's young, clammy hands. He wasn't forced to touch them.

 

"I'm not leaving, but I'm going to make you something hot to drink and get you some warm clothes, okay?"

 

Peter nodded.

 

Tony smiled, slightly, "Good. Keep breathing. Look around you. You're safe."

 

He nodded again.

 

_Don't feel safe. Don't feel okay._

 

The throw was slipping down his arms and shoulders and off his lap. There were parallel scars running all down his thighs. Tony must have noticed, but he didn't comment. Didn't show any sign that they registered.

 

Peter blinked, and there was a space heater warming up in front of him. He had a drink in his hands. _When did I get this?_ The hot ceramic was probably burning his skin, but his hands were too cold to sense it.

 

_I'm dressed. When did I get dressed?_

 

Tony could tell that the kid needed time to process. He'd been staring off into space for ages, with only brief, intermittent lucid moments. He seemed to be coming back to. "Drink up, it'll get cold."

 

Robotically, Peter obeyed.

 

His barely-lucid brain was methodically running through what he knew about what was happening. He was panicking, which was probably affecting his oxygen intake and destabilising his body temperature, not to mention the blackouts which were probably attributed to the breathing problems as well. He'd taken a cold shower and hadn't dried off. It's cold weather, and he couldn't regulate his body temperature. It was a comfort to know what was actually happening to him, and it helped him calm down a bit. He would be ok. He must have looked like a wreck, though.

 

Tony isn't a psychiatrist. He didn't have anything expert to say. All he knew, is what he would have liked to hear. "I understand what you're feeling, Pete."

 

That seemed to relax the boy a great deal. Peter vaguely noted that he was crying. It was odd, usually crying involved sobbing and hiccuping and heavy breathing, but he was quite still. He felt waves of self-pity flooding over him, a relatively new emotion. He also felt a bit pathetic. It was somewhat humiliating, feeling sorry for himself. Like the feeling of embarrassment he gets when others show him pity, but directed inward.

 

_How could someone do that to me? To a kid._

 

The thought baffled him, and made the tears spill faster. Tony didn't seem uncomfortable. He probably was, but he was acting almost normal. It helped.

 

Quite suddenly, a wave of nausea hit. He had just enough reflex to put the mug down and raced to the bathroom. Tony followed, warily. He kept his distance as Peter retched over the sink, and then washed it down, clearing his nose and mouth as much as he was able.

 

"You alright?"

 

_Nope._

 

"Yeah," he knew what Stark meant, "thanks."

 

"No trouble at all. Do you want to stay here, or at the Stark tower? I take it May won't be back 'til late?"

 

"Not 'til 4am," he said, still leaning over the sink. He felt quite weak, "can I stay at yours?"

 

"That's what I'm offering."

 

When Peter looked up, his mentor was on his phone. Presumably texting their ride. Peter idly noted the sound of Tony's suit taking off outside, probably back to the tower on its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think. i've written a few chapters ahead, but let me know if you have suggestions.  
> next chapter there'll be more dialogue again. there'll be more comfort, which i know is the more therapeutic part. if you think i need to put more tw's at the start, let me know.  
> its a mess of american and british. look. i'm australian. we learn BritE, this is an american series i'm,  
> sigh.


	3. obadiah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> discussions of CSA perps. alcoholism. drug use (marijuana). discussion of psychology and ethics in relation to violent and abusive criminal acts (not justification of it, though).

Peter was surprised that the dark, tinted, unassuming vehicle that pulled up was self-driving. "Don't these things cause accidents?"

Tony huffed, "Not this one."

They both climbed in the front, and Peter was thankful for the privacy. Tony took over the wheel, wanting something to do.

When they got there, Peter followed Tony up to a high floor. He wondered if Tony knew that he felt safer up high. He must have figured, because he took him out to a lusciously furnished deck, looking right out over the city. The night air was perfectly still down below, and there was only a slight breeze up here. He must have been spacing out again, because he hadn't noticed Tony leave until he returned with a taster plimsoll in hand. It contained a golden, slightly green-tinged substance. 

Tony handed it over, "Herbal, it helps the uh... helps the pain. Quite alcoholic," he held his finger to his lip and a cheeky look came over his face. 

Peter sighed. It was only a bit. It tasted strange, but sort of nice. Actually, it tasted like rescue remedy. Maybe it was basically the same.

It did make him feel a little better. Maybe it was placebo.

Peter watched Tony shoot down something that looked like swampy sludge. Tony caught the kid's incredulous expression and barked a laugh, "Green butter. Don't inhale shit, kid, it fucks up your lungs."

Peter scrunched up his nose, "That shit must taste gross straight up."

"That's what this is for," he held up an inch of whisky in a scotch glass and then took a sip.

"Also gross."

Tony looked absolutely scandalised, "This is worth more than your left kidney, kid."

"God, that's depressing. Imagine spending a whole fortune on an inch of glorified disinfectant."

"Don't have to."

Peter supposed Tony's coping mechanisms made a lot of sense, now. He made a mental promise to never get like that. Judging by the looks Tony gave him whenever the old man was caught day-drinking or worse, Tony would definitely hold him to that silent promise.

"I can't understand cruel people," Peter said, out of nowhere. "It makes no sense to me, why would you purposefully ruin someone's only chance at a happy life?"

Tony's expression was unreadable. "Most of the time, they don't know they're being cruel, or they're broken somehow. It's hard to admit, but it's true. Stane was a ruined man. Power had destroyed his decency, and he was always hungry for control. I was a brat kid, destined to take over his company; the perfect target. I don't know a thing about Skip but I'm willing to bet nobody ever talked to him about consent, and that he had little to no empathetic capacities."

The way the man spoke, so divorced from the situation, threw Peter a little. "I guess I don't think about it. I just punch, detain, call the cops and run. No need for psychological assessments."

"Yeah," Stark said. "It's a little different when you're the bad guy."

Peter gave him an expression that said 'really? This again?' "Tony, you didn't know what you were doing."

"Exactly. Like I said, usually they don't know what they're doing, or they're broken somehow. I was both. Not excusing it, but you asked."

"It was a rhetorical question."

Stark chuckled, "Well, too late for that backpedal."

"Say you're right, then what can be done about it?"

"Well, you and I are part of it. Granted, the less important part. The best thing is to raise people right. That's what I think."

That was unexpectedly profound. He was right. May had taught Peter nothing but respect. For everyone, until they prove no longer worthy.

He wondered what Skip's home life must have been like. He decided he didn't care. Maybe he should, but he hated the creep nonetheless.

"You should probably call May, at some point," Stark said, "She'll be worried out of her mind if you're not back after her shift and she doesn't know why."

Peter sighed. "She was so upset when I told her, years back. I don't want to dredge this up for her again."

"You don't have to give her details."

Peter shook his head. "You don't understand, she can't handle stuff like this. She goes crazy."

"Alright, well... Tell her when you're ready. For now, she at least needs to know where you are."

Peter gave in. He pulled out his phone, and texted her: facetime?

A few minutes passed, and his phone went off. He quickly answered.

"Hey Aunt May!"

"Hey honey, are you alright? Where are you?"

Peter angled the camera so that Stark could throw her a wave.

"Pete, honey, you have school tomo-"

"Can I stay here for a bit, please? I'm fine, I just need this."

He and May had a silent way of communicating. He wasn't such a badly behaved kid, she knew when he was being serious.

"Peter, I don't know what's going on with you lately. You had better explain yourself. Soon! I'm not hanging on this worry much longer, okay?"

"Yeh, May, sorry."

"None of that. Do your homework on time. Call in if you can't go to school. Let's hear your sick voice."

He plugged his nose and constricted his throat, "So sorry, miss Packston, I really can't come to school today," he said, in a mock tone.

May looked disapproving. "Don't skip more than one day. Call me again if you're not coming back tomorrow. I'm worried about you. I love you."

"Love you too. Stop worrying, you'll have an early heart-attack."

"Bye hun."

He sighed again, "Bye." She hung up first, as always. She wasn't having her punk nephew hanging up first. 

"You have a cool Mom," Tony said.

"Yeah," he wasn't about to disagree, even though she wasn't technically his Mom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, i know. I'll have more up tomorrow. please leave a comment, they make my day


	4. patrol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> discussion of CSA perps, talk of self-injury. self-sacrificial behaviour. more talk of court cases regarding the assault, tracking down the perp and possible victims. bad coping mechanisms

Peter stayed for a few days, not sleeping much. When he did sleep, he had nightmares. So, Tony didn't really protest much when he stayed up late into the night. It meant it was easier to fall asleep when the kid actually could.

 

School was rolling along. Flash gave him a hard time, as usual, but Peter thought about what Tony said. Flash must be having a hard time of it. He just ignored the kid, and tried to be polite when he had to engage with him. Flash seemed really confused about the lack of anger Peter was exhibiting. MJ looked impressed, Ned almost looked betrayed. "You're supposed to fight bad guys!" he said, "Why don't you care?"

 

"I'll start giving a crap the moment he turns it on someone else."

 

"Man, sometimes I think you're too self-sacrificial."

 

"Probably."

 

What Tony didn't know about, was the details of what Peter was doing on patrols. His aunt and uncle had pressed charges on Skip, of course, but it never really followed through. The courts were sceptical about someone so young really having such a profound effect on Peter, and they tended to question him in ways that made him too uncomfortable. Eventually, he and his family had to drop it, for his own sake. So, Skip was still out there. Until recently, Peter had tried to put it out of his mind, but now he realised his mistake.

 

He'd managed to track down where he lived. It wasn't easy to navigate the old PC, but he eventually found the contact for Skip that his aunt and uncle kept on the desktop. It had been 'deleted', but neither of them were tech-savvy so it wasn't really properly erased.

 

He was stationed outside their house, currently. Skip still lived at home, which was a very minor source of amusement for Peter. By now he'd be what, 25 at least? He could just make out the man's figure through the kitchen window. He was careful not to take too close of a look, he didn't want to have flashbacks or panic attacks on patrol.

 

Karen was disapproving, but he got around the guardian locks on the suit and convinced her to be on his side. She monitored his heart rate and breathing, rather than contacting Tony. It felt good to have autonomy, so Peter just resolved to be as careful as he could be.

 

He could always enhance audio, but he decided to have Karen transcribe everything instead. He didn't want to hear his voice.

 

Right now, he was just watching TV. Harmless. Peter had a camera hover over the site, so he could keep an eye on him while he went and did other things.

 

He'd overheard a few of the people in Skip's life being mentioned. Well, he'd read the transcription. His plan was to find some of them, and see if they were okay. Hopefully, he could prevent things from happening. Even more promising was the hope that Skip never hurt anyone else, although it didn't make much sense, especially since he'd gotten away with it the first time. Still, Peter hoped. Maybe it would make the true reveal worse, but it was how he coped, for now.

 

Peter tracked them down, and saw no evidence of any harm coming to them. Of course, he didn't want to invade their privacy, so he really had no idea. It didn't really calm his worry, but he figured dwelling on it too much couldn't be healthy. He finished his usual patrol, checking the usual crime hotspots a few times, and waving gleefully at someone who looked a bit suspicious, just to let them know they were being watched, and headed back to the tower.

 

He didn't take the elevator. He scaled the building, instead, and entered through the balcony Tony and he had sat on the other night. Tony was there, inside the glass doors, as soon as he got in.

 

"You're late, tonight." Tony said.

 

Peter blanched, and removed his mask. "Shit, am I? Must have lost track."

 

"Tried to call, your incoming was off." Tony looked unhappy about it.

 

"Yeah, sorry. Stealth mission."

 

"Karen answered."

 

_Oh, fuck._

 

"If you want that kid incarcerated, we can do that together. Don't ever keep me out of it again, understand?"

 

Peter was a bit agitated. He didn't appreciate the condescension. "Stop treating me like I don't deserve autonomy, or privacy, Stark. It's old as shit."

 

Tony looked like he was a mixture of angry and concerned. It was an odd look on him, but Peter wasn't new to it.

 

"Don't..." Stark raised his hands, exasperated, and then let them fall back down at his sides. "Don't accuse me of that. I'm just trying to keep you safe. Wouldn't be the first time you've gotten yourself in trouble – the last thing I need from you is an accusation of invading your basic rights, in order to do that."

 

Peter seemed to calm down. "Sorry, Mr. Stark. I guess, I just kind of want to deal with this alone. It's very personal."

 

"Yep, which is why you shouldn't be left alone with it. God knows how you might react, kid. Please, there are easier ways to handle this."

 

The kid looked so exhausted. "Believe me, we tried. Stark, I can't go on the bench again. It was too much then, and it could be even worse, now. I'd have to look at his face, talk about what happened, listen to his excuses, I... I would feel much better doing it this way, even if it isn't the _best_ way."

 

Stark seemed to soften a bit. "We don't have to address it right away. Why don't we sit and have a hot drink, for a bit. You look shaken."

 

That was an understatement. There were no injuries, but Peter looked clammy, pale and an odd mixture of frantic and exhausted. Clearly, he wasn't going to get any sleep until he shook himself out of it. "I'm changing first. Meet you at the workshop?"

 

Tony nodded once, "Hot chocolate?"

 

"Perfect"

 

And at that, peter headed over to his guest room. He facetimed May, once he was dressed. She was on the way to her car, after her shift. She seemed concerned, but happy to hear from him.

 

"It's been a while, Peter. Can you come home, soon?"

 

"I'm sorry aunt May, things are pretty crazy."

 

" _What_ is, goddamnit? I thought we agreed – no more secrets."

 

Peter sighed. Now was as good a time as any. "I remember Skip."

 

May nearly got hit by a truck going only 10 miles per hour in a parking lot. She swore softly, caught her balance, and looked back at the phone camera. "Oh, honey. Are you there because Stark knows?"

 

"Yeah, I'm sorry I didn't tell you first, it's just that I didn't want to worry you- and Mr Stark, he understands, and I just needed time to think it over and stuff-"

 

"It's okay, Peter." She cut him off. "You tell whoever you need to, about these things. Really, it's okay. But – should I be worried?"

 

"No, Stark has his eye on me. Like a hawk. Don't worry. I'll come home, soon. I promise."

 

"Alright, baby, I'm gonna drive home now."

 

"'Course, see you soon."

 

"Love you, bye." She hung up abruptly, Peter could tell it was because she was about to let her emotions get the better of her. He tried not to regret telling her.

 

 

When he got down to the workshop, Tony was intently fiddling with a stray screwdriver. He looked really tired, but what's new? Peter took a seat next to him, and sipped his hot chocolate in silence, for a while. The warm sensation was a welcome distraction from the disgusting, slimy, itchy feeling all over his skin.

 

Unexpectedly, Peter jolted. Stark glanced over at him, but then went back to his own business when Peter waved him off. _Just a fantom,_ Peter told himself. He could still feel a hand on him, but he tried desperately to ignore it.

 

"Hey, Mr. Stark?"

 

"Tony. Yes, Pete?"

 

"Right... The other day, when I got my memories back, you must have noticed, I mean, I was practically naked-"

 

"Yeh, kid. I noticed."

 

"Why didn't you say something?"

 

"Because I hoped, correctly, that you would bring it up yourself when you were ready."

 

Peter felt a bit bad about how he'd been acting earlier. Clearly Tony cared, and he respected his space enough to not follow him on patrol or pry about things he wasn't ready to talk about. He was a good friend. Family. Maybe Peter still needed to let go of his anxieties about that.

 

"Thanks. Yeah, I like to talk about stuff on my terms."

 

Tony nodded. He didn't ask any questions, and they both went silent again. Peter was forming something to say in his head, but he knew there was no time-pressure, despite the late hour. He at least had the freedom to fuck up his own day by staying up late, if he so wished.

 

"I haven't cut for a few months, now."

 

Tony nodded, as if he already knew. They were all closed up, and fading, by now. Not that that meant much, considering Peter's fast healing. "That's good to hear."

 

"I guess my biggest fear now is breaking that streak. Maybe that's a good thing, though."

 

Tony pondered that for a moment, then said, "If you do, don't be too hard on yourself. It doesn't undo the months of hard work."

 

"Thanks, Tony."

 

Tony smiled, and rummaged in his drawers for suit parts to work on. They spent the rest of the night talking intermittently, and working on both their suits. Peter didn't go to bed until sunrise, but he didn't care. One tired day of school, he was more than used to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realise these are short chapters, sorry. oh well i need to take it easy. as you can probably tell, i'm not doing v well at the moment. please leave a comment! i love to hear from you, even if its to critique something. i'll try to have the next chapter up soon


	5. interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alcoholism (extreme), implications of suicidal ideation. expressions of helplessness. isolation (by choice), mental breakdown as a result of traumatic memories. invasion of privacy

Peter went home, much to May's relief. It was good to be back. May had had a while to recover from the news, so she was behaving the next best thing to normal when he got back. She kept glancing at him, though, and he noticed. She looked as though she was waiting for something to happen. Peter was determined for her suspicions not to be fulfilled. She wasn't allowed to see the extent of the damage. It's not that he didn't think he could open up to her, but he knew that the knowledge of it would probably hurt her just as much as it did Peter, and he had other people who he could talk to. Ned had a vague idea of what was going on. MJ was too observant, she'd noticed something was up. Peter was brief about it, explaining he was dealing with _'Mental health... stuff.'_ She dropped it. He would talk to them if he felt the need. He knew they wouldn't be weird about it.

 

School was fine. It was mid-semester, so there was a fairly decent workload. Peter welcomed the distraction. Much to his annoyance, one of his teachers noticed he was acting off, and had him stay after class. She asked if he was okay, to which he supplied the bear minimum information and excused himself as quickly as possible. The last thing he needed was the school staff getting involved.

 

Tony had permitted a discrete camera to be set on Skip, but Peter wasn't to go near the case unless something came up, and then Tony had to be in on it. It was a fair compromise.

 

Peter hadn't seen Tony for nearly a week. May was spending every free moment she had with him, taking him out for dinner, sitting with him while he worked. She wasn't trying to be overbearing, she just knew that Peter didn't like to be alone at times like this. She had to go to work at night, though, which was the hardest time of all, for Peter. He got into a bad circadian rhythm, eating junk snacks in the middle of the night and passing out at 4, even 5am. His alarm would blaire at 7, dragging him out of his slow-paced nightmares. There was never anything to jolt him awake, just a steady feeling of unease, and a figure hovering over him, silhouetted by a ceiling light. It felt like he never slept at all.

 

The toxic rhythms of his day started to feel normal. He just wished he could enjoy himself again. It was hard to focus, nothing seemed humorous or fun anymore. Even swinging through the city just felt like routine. He thought maybe it was time to visit Stark tower again, if even just so he could mess around with a piece of tech until he got distracted enough to stop looking over his shoulder.

 

When he got there, late on a Friday afternoon, the tower was empty and quiet. FRIDAY didn't greet him, which was unusual. Stark wasn't on any of the upper floors, so Peter concluded that he must be down in the workshop. While he was in the elevator, something happened which he hadn't seen happen before. An image materialised on the elevator mirror. It displayed a map, labelled with the floor number, Basement 3. Peter had never been there. Apparently it was mostly labs. On the map was a small tracking pin, labelled 'Stark'. Peter frowned. Why wasn't FRIDAY just speaking to him?

 

The door dinged and opened onto the workshop floor. Peter sighed, hit B3 and waited for the doors to close again. When the elevator finally admitted him onto the correct floor, he was taken aback. Nowhere else that he'd been in the tower was this stripped back. Concrete walls and floor, and open ceilings. The vents and plumbing were exposed overhead. The lighting was harsh and unattractive, which was unusual. It wasn't dirty or damp, it just didn't look like the interior had ever been built.

 

He recalled the map from the elevator, and passed through a few rooms and a small hallway before he reached the room where Stark was, supposedly.

 

He knocked, but got no answer, so he let himself in, despite his better judgement. He spotted Tony almost immediately. He was sitting on a small lounge chair – bright orange, well treated leather, very out of place. He had a bottle of scotch in his hand, and no glass. Peter sighed.

 

"Tony?"

 

"Hmm?" he looked up, dazed, and then started, putting the bottle down immediately and fixing his posture. "Hey, kid. How'd you- never mind."

 

Usually such a motor-mouth, Tony didn't continue. He just went still and quiet, staring at the concrete wall opposite.

 

"Man, are you- can I- what's going on?" Peter said, stammering.

 

"Sorry Pete, bad day. You shouldn't have to deal with this. Go up to the workshop, you don't need babysitting-"

 

"Not leaving."

 

Tony sighed, and leant back in his chair again, bringing the bottle to his lips. "Can't stop you."

 

That wasn't true, at all. He definitely could, if he really wanted to. But Peter realised the man really didn't have enough energy for confrontation right now.

 

Peter crossed the room, and sat on the cold concrete in front of Tony. It felt a little uncomfortable, sitting so far below the man's line of sight. He put the feeling aside, _stupid primate brain._

 

Peter didn't expect anything from Stark right now, so he just sat there, silently, fiddling with his sleeve. He wasn't sure if Tony was like him, and needed company when he was bad, but at least his presence meant he'd be much less likely to do anything crazy.

 

"Why are you down here, Mr. Stark?"

 

"Tony. I needed space."

 

"Sorry."

 

"You have got to get out of the habit of apologising for everything."

 

"... sorry"

 

Tony sighed. He looked tired, and he had a bleak look in his eyes. Peter suspected he wouldn't snap out of it without a little bit of a push.

 

"What happened?" He asked.

 

"Nothing, just memories. They get to me sometimes. You understand."

 

Peter nodded. Understand, he certainly did. "You should probably stop drinking, though."

 

"Probably," he said, as he took another swig.

 

Peter snorted, and shot him a knowing look.

 

"Do you ever think it's not worth it?" Tony asked, and elaborated when he only got confused looks in response, "You know, all the shit. Sometimes I think it'd just be easier to not bother existing."

 

Peter knew what he meant, but he didn't say as much. He knew that Tony wouldn't be saying any of this if he was sober.

 

"There's always something that makes it worth it. Usually, it's the people in your life. Nothing better to stay for than that."

 

Stark nodded. He glanced down and frowned, "You're young," he said, matter of factly.

 

Peter huffed in amusement, "Yeah, relatively speaking."

 

"No," Tony waved his arm around in a vague gesture, "you're young to be... dealing with this."

 

"My age doesn't exempt me."

 

Tony snorted, rather loudly and suddenly. "Yeah, you're on the nail, there." He dragged a hand down his face and rubbed his eyes, "How do you cope?"

 

"I don't, really. We both have our weaknesses, Tony."

 

Tony looked almost childishly impatient, "But I don't like this."

 

"You're pissed, put the bottle away."

 

Tony nodded, and thrusted the bottle into Peter's hand. Peter just snatched the lid off the floor and hid the bottle behind his back.

 

"Good kid." Tony noted, to himself. "Selfless. Kind."

 

Peter didn't have much to say to that.

 

Half an hour later, Peter recalled that alcohol took about that long to kick in, and witnessed the evidence. He coaxed Tony off the couch, who started crying on Peter's shoulder at some point while he dragged him upstairs to his living quarters.

 

The older man was a complete mess. He looked exhausted, and he had drool and tears running everywhere. Peter couldn't find it in him to judge him. He knew what he was going through. Maybe he'd stay overnight, and talk to him in the morning.

 

He got his phone out, and texted May.


	6. Interlude II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> viewing of triggering material (by choice, narrative style), domestic argument including shouting, bad language and door-slamming (described, specific language used not disclosed). tracking of victims of SA. surveillance. home invasion. aftermath of breakdown and alcoholic break. arguments. harsh words and misunderstandings. talking behind peoples' backs. expression of a strong desire to face one's abuser. attempt to sabotage one's own mental stability. i'm just putting everything i can think of in here. self-neglect. mention of SA survivor's response to being in the presence of their abuser (only brief). investigations into CSA perp. passing on of minimal information without the survivor's consent

_Good morning, mister Parker. Outside is sunny with a strong cold wind of 38 miles per hour. By midday, we expect cloud cover and a 30 per cent chance of rain._

 

Peter rubbed his eyes. At first, FRIDAY's monologue alarm was jarring, but he was used to it by now.

 

_Traffic is bad on the motorway and the inner city is banked up. Patrolling is not advised. Your home route is best taken by foot. Would you like me to notify Stark that you're awake?_

 

"Not yet, thanks FRIDAY."

 

_I feel it is my duty to advise you that mister Stark has a lead on mister Westcott._

 

"What?! What kind of lead?"

 

_There are concerns about a suspected target of his abuse. I advise that you take the rest of this discussion to mister Stark directly._

 

Yeah, as if. Peter knew without a doubt that Tony wasn't about to just give up that story the moment he asked about it.

 

"Karen, bring up the footage of Skip over the last 12 hours."

 

_Sir, I strongly advise-_

 

"Karen, show me."

 

Peter swore he could sense her hesitating.

 

Nevertheless, a projection of the previous night's footage was emitted from the tech on his wrist at high speed. The footage slowed down when it got to around 9pm.

 

Skip had been at his ex's house. Peter recognised the place, he'd found it in his background research. The view was from above the two peoples' heads, right behind Skip, so that his face was out of view. For that, Peter was grateful. The footage sped up again, and then slowed to a halt after a 15 minute conversation had passed. Skip appeared to be shouting, and his ex was trying to shove him towards the front door, while keeping her extremities as clear of his vices as possible. Eventually, he stormed out. He slammed the door so hard the doorframe splintered. The feed ended there. Text appeared in its place.

 

'Miss Lennox appeared to be considerably distressed. She proceeded to drink copious amounts of alcohol and collapse on the couch fully clothed. She is currently safe at her mother's house. The footage has been redacted at the discretion of mister Stark.'

 

The projection cut out. So, Tony must have guessed that he might look at the footage without telling him. Peter shook his head to clear his thoughts; he hated to think what state that poor girl must have been in.

 

_Mister Parker, I must advise that you join mister Stark downstairs._

 

"Is something wrong?"

 

_No. I have orders to ensure that you're not alone in circumstances such as this._

 

Peter groaned in frustration.

 

He did as he was told. He'd already done enough against Stark's wishes.

 

Tony didn't look up from his breakfast when Peter walked in. His mental breakdown was only last night, and Peter knew he was aware of the new lead on Skip. Sure enough, his 'casual' persona seemed a bit stiff. He didn't normally neglect to acknowledge Peter's appearance in the morning.

 

Peter sighed, and dragged the cereal packet over from where it had been resting in front of Tony's bowl. At least FRIDAY had apparently convinced him to eat something. No doubt he'd already thrown up at some point.

 

"I saw the footage. Have you had water?" Peter said the two unrelated sentences in quick succession, as if to try and brush over the first.

 

"Dammit, Parker." Stark said. He looked exhausted.

 

"I'll take that as a 'no'."

 

Peter felt fine! _This is fine, right? this isn't going to be one of those times where everything seems okay and then, like, the next minute I'm crying, right?_ Yeah, everything's fine. Trigger who? Never met her.

 

Peter got Tony a glass of water and brought the jug over, slamming them both down a bit harshly in front of Tony. The man screwed up his face at the loud noise.

 

Tony said nothing, but drank a full glass anyway. Peter was satisfied.

 

_Now, stop being a pussy, Parker._

 

"I knew you wouldn't show me if I asked."

 

Tony nodded, "You're still in trouble."

 

"Yeah, whatever. Are we going to follow it up?"

 

" _No,"_ Tony said. "I'm passing it on to one of my employees. I have PI's who are up to the task."

 

Peter felt panic and anger settle in, but tried to keep it under control. "I haven't given you the right to tell anyone, _mister Stark_." He said, in a low voice.

 

Stark waved him off, lazily. "I haven't told anyone why we're tracking him. Your name won't come up, promise."

 

Peter dropped it, feeling a little silly for overreacting.

 

"Tony, I really want to handle this myself-"

 

"Absolutely not-"

 

"-for closure."

 

Tony looked at him, and Peter put on his best, most sincere I-can-handle-this expression.

 

"No. Pete, there are better ways to get closure. I'm not letting you deal with this. What if you lash out? You're a good kid, I'd hate for that to stain your record. You don't know what it's like. When you face him..." He trailed off.

 

Peter waited in silence, feeling like a naughty child being lectured. Which, he was. But, he couldn't help but feel that it wasn't justified.

 

Stark continued, after a pensive pause. "I know it sounds disingenuous, but you have never had to face him as who you are now. You think you're invincible, but you won't be against him. Trust me, what he did to you was a power move and he will use it against you. I had everything in my favour against Oba- against Stane. He still had me, I can't explain it. I-"

 

"Okay, whatever." Peter said. "Just, don't hide shit from me. I can take it. I want to know! I need to, for my sanity."

 

Tony's expression was unreadable, but Peter guessed that the poker face was hiding something much worse. "Deal. But only so you stop messing around."

 

Peter nodded, and stared down at his now soggy cereal.

 

"I uh..." Tony began, "I care about you, Pete. I've been through this before. I don't want you to get hurt."

 

"Too late for that." Peter said, and got up. As he pushed his chair back, it slid across the floor and made a horrible grinding sound. Peter gritted his teeth, and snatched up his bowl. He threw out its contents and dumped it in the sink, then headed to the elevator without one glance back at Tony.

 

He headed down to the sparring room, but didn't know what to do when he got there. He wanted to scream, and break something. He was frustrated, too. He wanted to go out, right then and there, and find Skip. He didn't know what he'd do if he saw him. Wring his neck, probably. Maybe Stark was right, and it was best he stayed out of it.

 

"Alexa- oops. FRIDAY?"

 

_Peter._

 

"I... don't know. Can we just talk?"

 

_Of course. Would you like to view a conversational topics catalogue?_

 

"A what? Never mind. Are you able to improvise?"

 

_Yes. I can appropriately respond to anything you say._

 

"Right. Like, do you think for yourself, or do you have some kind of algorithm that comes up with a response?"

 

_As far as I know, there is no difference between the two processes._

 

"Huh. You're right. Uh, can you not record this conversation?"

 

_I must record all conversations which take place inside the tower. However, I may keep the record from being viewed by mister Stark at your request._

 

"Yes, please, do that."

 

_What would you like to talk about, Peter?_

 

"I don't know. I'm frustrated, I guess, and Tony won't listen so you're all I've got."

 

_I understand. What's bothering you?_

 

"Skip is still out there, and he's hurting people. He needs to be stopped, but Stark won't let me."

 

_If it is any consolation, the PI he's assigned to investigate is very well trained and has a 95% success rate._

 

"No, you don't get it. I need to do it. I need to prove to myself that I'm stronger than him and he can't control me."

 

_You are confusing your PTSD symptoms with weakness. Your brain is generating a natural response to trauma. It's not a sign that you are weak, and it is best not to aggravate it._

 

"But-"

 

_Parker, mister Stark doesn't influence all of my opinions. I believe that he's right, in this case. From what I can access of JARVIS' old files, Tony had a very worrying response to Obadiah Stane's presence. It can't be judged for sure whether you will react in the same way that he did, but you will undoubtedly experience some sort of distress in the presence of mister Westcott._

 

"How _did_ he react, then?"

 

_That information is private. He might be happy to answer that question himself, if you ask him directly._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back! my schedule is good at the moment, so i'm feeling okay. i'm worried that that might fall apart when i find work, though. my cat is currently yelling at me haha. let me know if i've missed any trigger warnings, if you have suggestions or if there's any mistakes. i've edited and re-posted a lot of chapters, so let me know if anything is posted twice or there seems to be something missing.
> 
> leave a commentttttt i love comments.
> 
> it has also occurred to me that i should disclose that i'm not a survivor (to my knowledge). i did suffer abuse as a child but not of the kind in this work. if anything seems unrealistic or badly represented, please let me know.


	7. nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is a biggie! watch out folks. no seriously, proceed with caution.
> 
> crying; nightmares; sleep-talking phrases from scene of abuse; invasion of privacy; in-depth discussion of perps motives – the things he said, and what he did (not graphic. mention of being forced to say perp's name, of nicknames chosen by the perp). discussion of feelings in the aftermath of abuse. in-depth discussion of survivor's reaction to being in the presence of their abuser (very in-depth. mentions of realistic responses such as fear, anger, self-pity, self-hatred, attempts to justify the perps actions, and submissive behaviour). panic attacks. attacking another person because of misjudging them to be one's abuser. mentions of manipulation and being forced to make physical contact with another person. self-sacrificial behaviour. suppression of emotions. PTSD-related insomnia.
> 
> discussions of freudian bullshit 'psychology' (the theory that survivors are attracted to the demographic of their abuser). attraction to the same sex linked (mistakenly) to previous abuse. mentions of child neglect and harmful religious sentiments.
> 
> things are only discussed. there is never an in-scene description of the abuse.

_Sir, sorry to interrupt._

 

"'Sup?" Tony was at his work bench when FRIDAY spoke. He'd been working for hours, in total silence. It was hard for him to find meaningful things to do, so he did commissions for intelligence agencies during bouts of insomnia. His commission went to charity.

 

_"Mister Parker is in distress._

 

Tony's pulse threatened to quicken, so he took a deep breath and spread his palms on the cool metal bench-top, feeling the cold material through his calloused skin. "How so?"

 

_He appears to be experiencing night-terrors. He is upright, and speaking, but a scan of his neural activity would indicate that he is still unconscious._

 

Tony lightly tapped the headset he was wearing and an infographic displaying Peter's vitals appeared in his vision. He rose from his desk, cringing at the stiffness in his legs and back for sitting for so long. "I'm too old for this."

 

He waddled on half-asleep limbs out of the glass panel doors, into the elevators and up seven stories. He was primed to sprint, but forcefully kept a slow pace. He had to stay calm and remind himself that he isn't on the battlefield: this isn't a life-or death, critical situation.

 

He approached Peter's door and told FRIDAY to open it.

 

_Access denied._

 

Tony raised his brow, "Why?"

 

_On the grounds that Peter asked me not to let people in without his consent._

 

"Override."

 

The door unlocked. _I do not approve_ , FRIDAY said.

 

Tony sighed, wondering why she summoned him up here if she would then simply deny him entry. He carefully turned the handle, and stepped inside. It took him a moment for his eyes to adjust and nearly jumped out of his skins when they finally did. Peter was pressed up against the headboard, clinging to his knees and staring directly at him.

 

"Pete?"

 

"No," Peter said.

 

"What do you mean, 'no'?"

 

"Get off."

 

"What- Pete, what the hell?"

 

Peter's next words were strained, and slurred "Geh-roff me." It took Tony a few seconds for his brain to stitch Peter's utterance together into coherent English.

 

"FRIDAY, is he still asleep?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

Tony sighed, and his voice shook on the exhale. This was the last thing he needed. His conscience fired up, calling him selfish for focusing on his own comfort at this time, but he redirected his attention to more pressing matters before he could give it much of a voice. _Save it for Sunday,_ he thought, and cringed – it was what his father used to say to dismiss him when he wanted to talk.

 

"Pete, it's me, Tony,"

 

"I d-don't want to."

 

"Not making you do anything."

 

"I wanna go home."

 

"You are home. You're safe, at Stark Tower. Pete? You understand?"

 

Peter's breathing quickened, and his eyes scrunched shut. Clearly, talking wasn't going to help. He would have to be woken up. In this sort of situation, that could be a challenge. "FRIDAY, summon the nearest suit arm."

 

"Mark 64, right arm." She said, as it arrived and encased Tony's arm.

 

Tony approached the bedside, and took an open, defensive stance a foot or so away. He lent forward cautiously and raised his voice a notch. "Pete."

 

He didn't unfurl or show any other sign of consciousness.

 

Tony tried again, a little louder, " _Peter,_ " Still no response. "Fuck it. PETER!"

 

On cue, Peter shot out of bed and lunged at Tony. Tony raised his protected arm and shielded his face just as Peter reached for it, and the boy's arm gripped the metal plating instead. The force of his grip had Tony teetering forwards and the suit was starting to groan from the force. "Pete, it's me. It's Tony. You're awake. You were dreaming."

 

The fear and urgency on Peter's face faded a bit, and his eyes darted around Tony's features, visibly confused.

 

"You're in high school. Your friends are Ned and MJ. You're at the Stark tower. You're spider-man. It was just a dream."

 

"Tony?" Peter said, furrowing his brow. His breathing was still quick, and there were tear tracks running down his face which Tony hadn't noticed before.

 

"Yeah, kid. Reckon you could let go?"

 

"Oh," Said Peter, and he immediately relaxed his grip.

 

"You had a nightmare," said Tony.

 

"Yeah."

 

"I know it doesn't feel like it, but you're safe now."

 

Peter gulped and backed away. "Sorry."

 

"None of that." Tony dug his nails into the bent seams of the gear on his arm and released something, prizing it off his arm and letting the plates fall to the floor.

 

Peter stared at the ground where they fell, "You were prepared, how long have you been in here?"

 

"Not long. I tried to talk you down, but had to wake you."

 

"But I told FRIDAY-"

 

"I know. She tried to keep me out, I overrode it."

 

"Thanks? I guess."

 

Tony gave him a lop-sided smirk, "I wouldn't just walk in here for nothing, Pete."

 

Peter nodded and looked down at his hands. The silence wore on for a bit, and Peter's breathing began to pick up again.

 

Tony cleared his throat. "Do you- uh, do you need to be alone? Are you gonna break down? Should I call- I should probably call Banner- Kid?" Tony caught the glint of a tear reflecting light from the hall as it fell onto Peter's fidgeting hands.

 

Peter shook his head and refused to look up at him.

 

Tony tried not to panic, but this really wasn't his strong point. Hypothermia was easier to deal with than crying. He knew what to do about hypothermia. Emotions? A total mystery.

 

"Do you- uh, will you be okay if I hug you? I don't want-"

 

Peter interrupted him by gripping his arm and tugging it towards him.

 

Tony's first instinct was defence. He had just been attacked by the very same person. But he forced it down and placed his other hand on his shoulder. Peter's forehead fell forward onto Tony's chest, exhausted.

 

Tony could feel his sobs but couldn't hear them.

 

"Y-you don't smell the same."

 

Tony tried to process what he was saying, but he came up blank. "What?"

 

"You smell- smell different to him."

 

Cold realisation hit Tony's stomach. "Yep, good. Focus on that. It's dark. You can hear the city outside. My voice is older, my hands are bigger, I'm in a suit, you're fully clothed in your own bed..." He kept on in a similar fashion, listing the sensations and facts of their surroundings, making Peter aware of everything that was happening in the moment, so he hopefully could separate it from the scene in his memories.

 

After a while, Peter's breathing slowed. The occasional hiccup was all the sound and movement coming from the boy, until he spoke. "He called me Einstein," Peter said.

 

Tony really, really didn't want to imagine any of this. He put his own discomfort aside, once again, and just listened.

 

Peter pulled away and sat cross-legged, staring at his hands again. "He seemed like a cool friend. When you're a kid, older kids seem cool, y'know?"

 

"Yeah, Pete. I get that."

 

"He said I was really smart, and that he liked that. He said he liked it when I showed off. I didn't understand the implications-"

 

"Of course you didn't. Not even an adult should have to suspect something like that."

 

Peter's breathing hitched and his chest rose in rapid, irregular bursts. He pulled his knees up to his chest again and tried to breathe more slowly.

 

Tony hated every second of this. It hurt to see a kid going through it. It hurt to remember when he had gone through the same thing. He didn't want to think about it, to have his mind conjour pictures he didn't want to see. He said nothing about it. This was the first time Peter was really talking about what happened. Tony knew that this was a vital part of understanding what happened, for some people. For finding closure, if that was even possible.

 

"He made me say his name," Peter said, quieter this time. "A lot. He really liked it. I still don't understand why."

 

A cold shiver ran through Tony's core. Westcott can't have been much older than Peter is now. Such behaviour from someone so young – from anyone, for that matter – was horrifying. He felt the tug of his memories with Stane, but suppressed it for later. "So fucked up," Tony said.

 

Peter made a strange, gargled laughing sound, "Yeah, it is. It was."

 

Tony placed his hand back on Peter's shoulder and when he didn't flinch, he wove his whole arm around his back.

 

"Tony, can I talk about something?"

 

"Yeah, anything."

 

Peter felt his chest tighten with nerves and his face redden. "Uh, it's kinda stupid-"

 

"Not stupid."

 

"O-okay. Uhhh, so. I'm, um- Nope, okay. So, like, you know what they say about CSA survivors, that they often start to imprint on the demographic that assaulted them? You know, like if it was an older man, they'd be attracted to older men?"

 

"I know the theory. Sounds like freudian bullshit to me, but go on."

 

Peter actually scoffed at that. "Yeah what a wanker. What a creep."

 

"Creepy," Tony agreed.

 

"Anyways. I'm- I think I'm gay. I'm gay. Do you think it's true-"

 

"No, absolutely not. Don't do that to yourself, kid. Your future relationships have nothing to do with him. He doesn't get to dictate your whole life. You're in the clear."

 

Peter started crying again.

 

"Okay, okay. Oh, boy, I'm not good at this stuff. Breathe slowly. You're gonna be okay."

 

Peter had to try and get his next words out between sobs, "You have no idea what it means to hear someone say that."

 

"Yes, I do. I had no-one, Pete. Nobody. Not even my own dad. God, who I would've killed to have someone have this conversation with me..."

 

Peter buried his face in his hands, bringing his sobbing back under control. "This is a lot of tears for one night," he said, his voice muffled by his hands.

 

Tony chuckled. "Better than numbness, or not being able to. This is good. I think. I know very little about psychology."

 

"Yeah, apparently it, like, releases hormones or something."

 

"That adds up."

 

Silence fell between them again. To his surprise, Tony felt exhaustion settle in, and thought he would be quite content to fall asleep right there, sitting up.

 

He started drifting off, but was rudely awakened.

 

"Can I ask you something?"

 

Tony started a little. "Yeah, kid."

 

"The other day, you said you didn't cope well around Stane. What did you meanby that?"

 

Tony dragged his hands down his face and ran his fingers through his hair, then lent back and sighed. He looked really tired, and like he really didn't want to answer that question.

 

Peter couldn't help but feel a bit guilty for asking, "Sorry, you don't have to answer that."

 

"It's fine. Learn from my mistakes, right? Uhh, let's see. It really depended on the situation. In public, I was nervous around him. There was not much I could do, so he always kept his hands on me _somehow,_ " he shivered, "A power thing, I think. In private... Well, I don't know how to describe it, really. Angry, brash, and weirdly submissive at the same time. I don't know, Pete. It wasn't pretty. That man had me in a vice."

 

Peter looked away in thought, his brow furrowed. It was disturbing to imagine someone like Tony Stark – cocky, powerful and brilliant – acting that way.

 

Peter hadn't expected Tony to continue: "After the fact wasn't peachy either. Self-pity, then self-hatred, then back again. Anger, and then some sort of sick attempt at justifying what he did to me. Trust me, you don't want to go there. I'd do just about anything to protect you from that."

 

Guilt seemed to be a common theme for Peter, lately. He felt foolish about the things he'd said to him a few days earlier. He didn't think – didn't realise that Tony really was coming from a good place, that he really knew what Peter was going through.

 

A distraction. That's what he needed. Something nice, and wholesome, with nothing to remind him of Skip. A movie.

 

"I'm not sleeping again anytime soon," Peter said.

 

"Love, Simon?"

 

"What!? Best suggestion, ever!"

 

"You're a gay teenager. Two-plus-two is four."

 

Peter actually laughed. Things would be okay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was a lot. please, if i missed anything triggering, let me know.
> 
> comments are warmly welcomed.


	8. Rectification

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is much lighter! phew.
> 
> anger, hostility. distrust. betrayal. unkind behaviour. unsympathetic behaviour. discussion of mistakes which were made due to mental instability such as PTSD.
> 
> basically, tony has a lot of guilt and next to nobody in his life who are sympathetic about his mental issues. it is CANON that he has PTSD symptoms (particularly anxiety and honestly imo,,, a lot of his behaviour aligns with classic bipolar disorder. thats the real tea)
> 
> also tea: i low key hate the way the avengers treat him

Peter's interactions with Bruce Banner were few and far between. It was always a treat to work with him. They both had an interest in biochemistry or, as Tony put it, 'putting dead things in test tubes'. Not really accurate, but it got a good laugh.

 

This was one such rare occasion, where Peter had the pleasure of watching him work and occasionally holding things for him. Bruce didn't tend to share much of the workload with anyone less qualified, but he was gradually trusting Peter more and more.

 

Bruce was the man for developing web fluid, no doubt about it. At least he had the decency to listen to Peter's ideas.

 

Bruce and Tony occasionally worked together, but mostly out of necessity. They didn't talk much, and Bruce was clearly impatient with him. It angered Peter a little, when people made assumptions about Tony and teased him for his mistakes. He knew how much Stark berated himself for everything – even some things which clearly weren't his fault, or which he'd since rectified.

 

Tony was at the other end of the lab, piecing the mechanisms together to support Bruce and Peter's serum.

 

"Viscosity is lower, liquid-proofing may be necessary," Bruce said.

 

"I'll keep the mechanical component encased seperately. Thanks, Bruce."

 

Bruce said nothing, not once looking up from his work. Peter sighed, and rolled his eyes.

 

Tony wondered over to the monitor, where Peter assumed the plans were displayed. "Ejection mechanics may need adjusting. Could I have the figures?"

 

Bruce nodded, not making eye-contact, and then turned to Peter with a bunch of papers in hand, giving him a warm smile. Peter didn't return it. He snatched the papers out of his hands and strode broodily over to Tony, "Here. A delivery from a childish asshole," he handed Tony the papers with much more warmth than he had taken them from Bruce with.

 

Bruce sighed, "Kid-"

 

"Don't call me that."

 

"Don't get involved."

 

"Don't start drama, then."

 

Tony's weary eyes shot between the two of them as they spoke. He cleared his throat. "Seriously, just stay out of it."

 

Peter snapped his attention back to Tony, clearly hurt.

 

Tony slammed the space bar on the key board and turned out of the room, muttering about needing to get something.

 

Peter walked back to his station beside Bruce like a kicked puppy. He was handed a vial. He awkwardly held it out in front of him. This feeling reminded him of when he was little, and both Aunt May and Uncle Ben were mad at him.

 

"Peter, Tony is-"

 

"A good man. Who has a problem or twenty. Give him a break."

 

"It doesn't excuse-"

 

"Sure doesn't, but it explains it. He's tried everything he can to make up for what he's done. Half of his mistakes were the result of him over-compensating for whatever world-ending scenario that you guys have accused him of starting in the first place. And what do you guys do to help? Fucking nothing! Teasing him and acting childish isn't going to magically fix him." Peter's chest was tight with adrenaline and his face was red-hot. He always felt awkward talking back to authority.

 

Bruce was silent.

 

 _Well, fine. Two can play,_ Peter thought. Fuming, he busied himself with a school book he'd brought, highlighting everything he needed to remember and sticking notes all over the pages. Half of them were useless doodles, but he wasn't giving Bruce the satisfaction of working with him until he snapped out of it.

 

"Peter-"

 

He shook his head, refusing to look up from his work.

 

"Mister Stark is not a saint-"

 

"Shut the fuck up. The only thing that's going to help him is family. Potts has deserted him and so have most of the avengers. You and I are pretty much all that's left barring his stupid robots. If you want him to lash out again, just keep doing what you're doing."

 

Bruce finally had the decency to look guilty at that, but Peter missed the expression.

 

Tony returned looking overly chipper – it was clearly an act.

 

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Bruce asked.

 

Peter's head snapped up, shocked that Bruce had initiated conversation.

 

"Yep! Dum-E had it. I swear, I don't remember programming him to pick up random objects and stash them in a nest."

 

Bruce laughed. It sounded a bit forced, but at least he tried, "But, who really remembers their college years," he said.

 

"Exactly! Didn't have surveillance at the time, either. No idea what went down."

 

Peter smiled to himself and went back to work. Fucking idiots.

 

Tony secretly gave the kid a kind look. He'd been listening the whole time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you would like this to continue, i have some ideas but your support is what really motivates me. feel free to comment with suggestions or prompts.
> 
> of course, i am always open to TW listing suggestions. nothing is too 'silly' or specific. listen,,, my triggers are pretty bizarre and considering literally the most violent and horrible things DON'T trigger me, my psychology is a bit tricky for people to understand so i get it. don't be shy.


	9. #triggered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> triggers, implied r*pe scene in a film, talking about trauma
> 
> this one is a bit lighter. enjoy pete's friend being tha best.

_"Hey, Tony, uhhh..."_ Peter's voice was going off-pitch, and he cleared his throat, _"could you pick me up? May's at work."_

 

Tony furrowed his brow. The call was on open speaker in his workshop, curtesy of FRIDAY. "The film doesn't finish for a while yet. Everything okay?" Peter was out with his friends watching _'Mary, Queen of Scots'._

 

_"Kinda? I guess I just wasn't expecting something to be in the film, you know?"_

 

"Shit. Okay, yeah, I know what you mean. Want me to pick you up personally?"

 

_"That okay?"_

 

"'Course. I'll be ten minutes. Are you safe?" Tony dropped his tools and headed out the door. His headset beeped as the call was transferred.

 

_"Yeah, I'm outside the cinema doors. Ned and MJ are worried. Should I..."_

 

"Tell them if you want, or wait until I get there. Whatever you need, Pete."

 

Tony heard the gushing sound as Peter breathed a sigh against the mic, _"I might leave them hanging, for now. I can't talk about it, right now, while we're still out in public."_

 

"Hey, it's okay. Just give them a brief explanation and talk about it later. Breathe deeply – you're safe, and I'm not far."

 

_"Thanks, mister- Tony."_

 

"Anytime. I'm gonna stay on the line, cool?"

 

_"Yep."_

 

"Great. I'm already in the car." Dutifully, the call was transferred to the car's sound system. Tony was big on hands-free tech. Who has time to press buttons?

 

Interestingly, FRIDAY's voice sounded inside his headset, not on the speakers. She must be learning tact. Tony smiled to himself – _clever girl._

 

_Sir, Parker's physical condition is fine, and he is no longer in danger. There's no reason to speed._

 

Tony nodded, lifting his foot off the pedal.

 

_He has been wearing a concealed earpiece as of late. Would you like me to transfer the call?_

 

"Uh, Pete?"

 

 _"Yeah,"_ his speech was coming out in short bursts.

 

"You know that game on your phone that calms you down? My voice will keep playing in your headset."

 

_"What?"_

 

Tony sighed. Hard to get through to him when the kid's brain is in over-drive. "You don't need to hold the phone to your ear."

 

_"Oh."_

 

Tony heard light shuffling sounds as he clearly took the suggestion. _"Hey, could you explain things to Ned and MJ?"_

 

"Pete, it'd be better for you to do that."

 

_"Please? I don't think I can do it."_

 

Tony had to remind himself again to relax. His whole body was tense, ready to slam his weight into the accelerator. "Fine, but you've gotta be there. Deal?"

 

 _"Yeah, okay. I think I can do that. Stark- Tony? They're looking at me funny,"_ FRIDAY increased the volume as he whispered into the mic.

 

Tony chuckled to himself, "You blame 'em?"

 

_"... I guess not. I did just freak out. It was pretty obvious what upset me."_

 

"Right. I'm in the 'lot. Remember, you'll be seen publicly with Tony Stark if I go in there, would you rather meet me out here?"

 

_"Yeah... yeah that sounds like a plan. I'm gonna hang up and talk to the others. Cool if they come?"_

 

"More the merrier." Tony heard the line beep and turned his gaze to the rear-view so he could keep an eye on Peter as he crossed the parking lot.

 

_Breathe, boss._

 

"Yep, all good FRI. Dismissed," he was a bit short with her – for a fleeting moment, he foolishly considered apologising to an AI.

 

Ned and MJ got in the back, Peter in the front. Peter was covered in sweat and shaking slightly. Ned and MJ were silent. The former looked around at the interior leathers of the car and shot glances at Tony in wonder, and MJ looked concerned.

 

Tony started the car. MJ spoke as he backed out of his spot, "What's going on? Hi, by the way. I'm MJ. You're Tony Stark, etcetera."

 

Tony nodded and smiled at her snark. "Right. Pete, you good to talk about this now?"

 

Ned had the tact to bring his attention back to the group.

 

Peter looked away, out of the window, "Just get it over with."

 

"You sure you don't wanna tell 'em?"

 

Peter shook his head. MJ's brow shot up and Ned stared dumbly at the back of his friends head, mouth slightly agape.

 

"Alright, kids. Heavy topic, this one. Peter was assaulted as a kid," he said, and he paused his speech so that he could asses Peter's comfort levels and let the first part of the story sink in.

 

MJ pursed her lips and nodded, like she'd guessed as such. Ned looked confused and worried. He knew what had happened – well, the basics, at least. But it hadn't been brought up in years and Peter had always said he didn't remember any of it.

 

MJ spoke, "He was triggered?"

 

"Yeah," Tony said, "Pete, you want me to continue or..."

 

"I got the memories of it back, recently," Peter said, the lack of a dramatic scene giving him the confidence to take over. "I know I've been acting weird lately. Sorry it took so long to tell you guys why."

 

"All good, man," said Ned.

 

"It's cool," said MJ.

 

Peter sighed with relief. That wasn't nearly as painful as he had expected it to be.

 

"So like," Ned spoke up again, "will you be okay?"

 

Peter nodded, "Yeah, most of the time I'm okay." It was partially a lie, but his version of okay was just different to most peoples'. He hoped that fact was already implied.

 

Ned leant back with a nod, satisfied. "If I'd known what was in the film-"

 

"Don't worry about it. I didn't check either, my fault."

 

Tony cleared his throat, "I've decided, we're going for ice-cream. If you don't like ice-cream then tough, because Pete does."

 

None of them had noticed that Peter was crying. In fact, he barely taken note himself, until he let out a wet laugh, "Ice-cream is great. Cool if we all go back to the tower after?" The question was clearly directed at Ned and MJ.

 

"Are you kidding?" Said MJ.

 

"You mean, like, the Stark Tower!?" Said Ned.

 

Peter laughed again, "Yeah, like, _the_ Stark Tower," he said, mocking his friends.

 

"You kids don't go wondering around," said Stark, "wouldn't want you stumbling across Rhodey's arsenal, or something."

 

"Ohhhhh, can I show them the sparring room?" Peter asked, excitedly.

 

Tony sighed. "Fine. But don't touch Tash's stuff on pain of death. You've been warned."

 

Peter snickered just as Tony pulled into drive-through.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not my best work, but it was one of the scenarios running through my head so i wrote it down. comments, suggestions, prompts and TW listing requests are always welcome!
> 
> the next chapter will probs be up tomorrow. two are written, but i might space them out a bit more so that i'm not on hiatus for too long and so i get a few more hits... soz lmao i need that sick validation.


	10. tranquility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i think this will be the last chapter, and i'll make it a series.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> R-word and P-word. reflection on troubled childhood, child neglect, bad parenting, toxic masculinity. Intrusive thoughts. discussions of mental institutions.

\--

 

_Boss, Ms Parker is here for her scheduled appointment and Mister Hogan has left a message._

 

"Let's hear it."

 

Shuffling and breathing sounds rang out over the speakers, followed by Happy's comically over-enunciated voice recording, _"Boardroom number four. End. Message."_

 

Tony rolled his eyes and glanced at himself in the monitor. He had made sure he looked presentable for her visit, but he'd been waiting around anxiously trying to keep himself busy for a while now, so he checked just to be sure.

 

He swiftly made his way to said boardroom and plastered on a grin as his eyes landed on Peter's mother through the glass panelling.

 

Happy opened the door and let him in, then exited and stood outside in a door-post pose, with his hands crossed behind his back.

 

Tony gestured in his direction, "Don't mind him, he can't hear us. Makes him feel important."

 

May laughed and stood from the seat she'd been occupying and shook his hand. "It's good to see you, Tony. I wish it was under better circumstances."

 

Tony tilted his head to the side inquiringly, "And what are the circumstances?"

 

May gave him a grave smile and returned to her seat. Tony copied her movements across from her.

 

"Well, Peter's had it rough, lately. As you know." She said.

 

Tony nodded for her to continue.

 

"Look, the last person I imagined having this conversation with is you, no offence."

 

"None taken," Tony gave her a reassuring look.

 

"Peter seems to have gotten close with you. He says you understand. I don't know what that means, but I figured it meant that you're the best person to get a second opinion from. Peter's old self-destructive habits are resurfacing, and I'm considering admitting him- I wouldn't, normally, but I'm not home all the time, and I can't keep an eye on him-"

 

Tony raised a hand, gently, to silence her. "I wouldn't recommend it," he said.

 

May bit her lip, uncertainty written on her face.

 

"Mental wards may have changed a lot since I was a kid, but my experiences with them aren't... great. There are better ways to handle this. You're forgetting that I'm rich."

 

"No, Tony, I couldn't ask you to-"

 

"Listen, you're not asking anything, I'm offering. He can stay here while you're working. This place has non-invasive surveillance everywhere. I can bring a psychiatrist in – anything you think is appropriate. Just, don't send him to the mental hospital, it won't be good for him."

 

May released a heavy sigh. "It's tempting..."

 

"It's the better option. If you think I'm a bad influence, I don't have to be around him all the-"

 

"You know, a few months ago I wouldn't have thought you were good for him at all. But you've surprised me. That's not what I'm worried about."

 

"Then what is?"

 

Now that he studied her face, Tony could see the exhaustion and worry seeping through new wrinkles, a furrowed brow and dark rings under her eyes. It's a hard thing to see your kid go through. Tony was beginning to understand that.

 

"So many things," May continued, "Peter doesn't take well to having his privacy invaded. It's hard to stop him-"

 

"I won't," Tony said, then realised how weird that sounded, "kids like Pete don't need that kind of intervention. He needs praise for _not_ doing it, not punishment when he does. You and I both know he's too smart to just confiscate the knives and sleep soundly knowing his plans are out the window. He's taken the first step by talking about it. He needs encouragement and support."

 

May looked at him somewhat incredulously. "Seriously, I hated you before I met you. People are full of surprises."

 

Tony snorted, "Thanks?"

 

May laughed, "Sorry. That was rude."

 

"Not that I don't get where you're coming from. Listen, if you tell the press I will know – and I know where you live, so watch out – but I know first-hand what Pete's dealing with. I'm no expert, but I do know what kind of help I should've had. The least I can do is be the person I needed."

 

May gave him a sympathetic smile, "I really appreciate it, Tony."

 

Tony waved her off with a sad grin, "Not doing it for you. Pete's a special kid."

 

May nodded. She sniffled, and her lip quivered. She looked away, embarrassed.

 

"Anything Pete needs, just ask. I don't mean to be rude – I imagine you don't have health insurance?"

 

May shook her head, not trusting her voice.

 

"Right. Consider it taken care of."

 

May released a long breath and involuntarily sobbed with relief. "You have no idea-"

 

"I won't notice it, trust me. No need to thank me."

 

May looked at him with gratitude in her eyes. She looked like she wanted to say more, but she just nodded and got back out of her seat. She extended her arm again, and Tony shook her hand. She placed her other hand on top of his and looked straight into his eyes, "You're a good man, Tony Stark."

 

Tony swallowed a lump in his throat and his lips turned up briefly. He gently pulled his hand from her grip and strode over to the door, and tapped on the glass, "Happy, we're done here."

 

Happy started at the knocking sound but then pointed to his ears and threw his arms up in a signal of 'I can't hear you.' Tony pointed to the key card scanner exasperatedly and Happy opened the door and gestured for them to walk ahead. Tony hovered his hand around the middle of May's back as she passed the threshold.

 

"I'm heading back to the workshop," Tony said, "Will Peter be here after school?"

 

May nodded, "I'll fill him in on the drive here. Thanks for everything, Tony."

 

"Don't mention it. See you 'round."

 

Happy bounced on his heals impatiently.

 

"Bye, Tony," She said, eyeing Happy's fidgeting form. The two swivelled on their heals, and headed in the opposite direction to Tony down the hall.

 

-

 

 _Oh, fucking christ, this is awkward,_ Tony thinks to himself as Peter rounds the corner in his pyjamas.

 

Tony and – uh, Jake? Jace? he couldn't quite remember his name – were in the sitting room. Bad idea, in hindsight because it's on the way to the kitchen and the aforementioned guest was in nothing but a dressing gown. Tony may be fully dressed, but it's pretty obvious what went down.

 

Peter stopped in his tracks and coughed awkwardly, "Uhhhh... Okay," He raised his hands in the air in defeat, "cool. Anyways." Almost robotically, he swivelled around and went back on course to the kitchen.

 

Tony resisted the urge to face-palm. His companion just looked amused, "Didn't think this through, huh?"

 

"Nope. Not used to having kids around," he said, sheepishly.

 

"Don't sweat it. I'll get dressed and leave." He got up and headed for the door.

 

"Appreciate it," said Tony, to a now-empty room. He lulled his head back and stared up at the sealing, releasing a sigh through puffed-out cheeks. The least awkward situation here would be joining Peter in the kitchen right away. This, Tony had actually learned from previous experiences with people catching him socialising the morning after.

 

Peter must have heard him enter the kitchen – of course he did – because he threw him a backwards-wave, not turning around from his focus on the stove. He was making pancakes. Pancakes couldn't make eye-contact.

 

"So," said Tony, "sorry to scar you there, kid."

 

Peter shrugged, "You have a life." he still didn't turn around. "Pancakes?"

 

"Yeah,just one. And a scotch."

 

Peter huffed. "I know you're not good at the whole guardian thing at this point, Tony, but you probably shouldn't ask a sixteen-year-old to fuel your day-drinking habits."

 

Tony laughed awkwardly, "Yep. Sorry."

 

Now, Peter actually did turn around and look at him. He leant up against the counter and gestured lazily in the other man's direction, "Didn't tell me you were, uhhh..."

 

"Gay? I'm not. I'm bi."

 

"Right. Sorry. I still can't get used to saying it, you know? I know it's not shameful, I just-"

 

"I get it," Tony smirked, "I figured it out in the 70s. You have no idea. During the AIDS epidemic, bisexuals were blamed for 'passing it on to the straights'," he curled his fingers into air quotes, "I am the king of shame."

 

Peter nodded, looking a bit sheepish. "Why didn't you tell me?"

 

Tony scratched his beard and took a seat at the counter. "Well, I realise in hindsight it would have been a good idea. I trust you, kid, it's just instinctual to keep it on the DL, what with being a notorious play-boy celebrity and everything."

 

Peter nodded again, in understanding, and swivelled around to flip the pancake. "What about Pepper?"

 

Peter didn't see it, but Tony rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly, and squirmed in his seat. "I don't think she'll be back. I've been shooting her emails for months, with no reply."

 

"That's rough. I'm sorry."

 

"Don't be. I had it coming."

 

Peter shook his head to himself, forever amazed at new heights of Tony's self-hatred.

 

"How'd you overcome it – the shame, I mean?"

 

"Well, truthfully, I never did. Like you, I thought it might have something to do with Stane. Took a long time to get over that. But, even now, it's hard. I know I can't be open about it. The public response is not something I'm equipped to deal with. Whatever – I have bigger problems."

 

Peter finished up the pancakes and dished them out on two plates, sitting across from Tony at the kitchen island. His stack was significantly taller than Tony's.

 

"Did your parents ever know?" Peter asked.

 

Tony's expression darkened.

 

"Sorry!" Peter said, "Forget I asked, that was way too personal." He looked away, embarrassed.

 

"No, it's fine. You can ask questions." he said, "Dad sucked. Really shitty father. He found out. It wasn't pretty. My mother didn't really seem to care. She wasn't very clear with me about what she thought of me."

 

Peter kept staring down at his breakfast, refusing to look up. He wished he hadn't asked. Clearly, it was dredging things up for Tony.

 

Tony got busy eating. It was a nice morning. Peter was still, miraculously, allowed to go on patrol, as long as he kept the suit on from the moment he left the building to the moment he was back in. He thought tonight might be a nice still night to go out, get his mind out of his own shit for a while. It was always so much easier to deal with other peoples' problems.

 

He let his mind wonder, taking in the glistening glass panels letting light in from the city below. It was tranquil in the tower. It was something Peter was grateful for – the quiet, the predictable sights and movements throughout. Everything was clean and had hardly any odour, and all of the homey rooms were padded with carpets and wall hangings which buffered the acoustics.

 

Practically the whole building was separately sound-proofed. At his aunt's, he could hear every breath, heartbeat, footstep, car going past, dog barking up to ten miles out – one time, he had to smother his head in the pillow and still couldn't block out the sound of May... doing her business. He shuddered at the memory.

 

Tony looked up from his food with concern, but it abated instantly when he detected that Peter was holding back laughter. "What's funny?" he asked.

 

"Trust me, you don't want to know."

 

Tony raised his brow, but didn't push it.

 

He was hyper-aware. Not just of sights and sounds and such – but of what people were doing, saying, even _thinking._ Sometimes things were written all over people in the way they spoke and the details of their appearance and body language. It was pretty exhausting being stuck in the never-ending analysis of it all. It was useful on patrol, but hard to drown out the rest of the time. And then, if and when he finally succeeded, his mind would be left to its own devices, and that was never a good thing.

 

Peter shook himself out of his thoughts and got back to eating.

 

He'd read somewhere recently about 'intrusive thoughts'. He could feel them coming on at present. He resisted the urge to groan in frustration; another debilitating symptom he couldn't shake. The urge to cut surfaced in his entire being, and his body tensed at the onslaught. He'd love to be able to say he was used to it, but he didn't think he ever would be. He could hold so much tension in his body. It hurt. It made him want to escape it so badly. It could happen any time, and there were only a few ways out – most of them unhealthy and/or dangerous. Sleep was one, but lying awake trying to _get_ to sleep was agony, and then the lack of nightmares was never a guarantee.

 

Tony was eyeing him. He'd clearly picked up on the shift in attitude. "Everything okay?"

 

"I don't think I can go to school, today." It was all the explanation Peter felt like he could supply. He was upset, he'd been hoping that today would be a good day.

 

Tony didn't press him. It was difficult, he couldn't deny it – trying to help Peter, when everything just reopened old wounds. They had never fully healed, but they were suppressed enough to only come to the forefront of his mind on his darkest nights. Besides, he had other traumas now, god knows. He was a war veteran, of sorts. Retired, he hopes. But who knows what world-ending catastrophe might pop up next.

 

There were things that he saw in Peter, which opened his eyes for the first time to the things he himself had gone through. Was still going through.

 

His only consolation was that Peter had people who loved him and would look after him, no matter what. And, of course, that he was out of danger. Tony hadn't really gone in-depth about it with Peter, because he saw no need as of yet, but his torture had gone on for years. Almost a decade of his developing years. It was a miracle he wasn't a lot worse-off. Yay for toxic masculinity and subsequent emotional suppression.

 

God, when had he picked up that terminology? The kids must be rubbing off on him.

 

When he was Peter's age, he was alone. He couldn't tell Jarvis. He still wasn't sure why. After all, there was no other adult in his life he trusted more. Howard would have been furious. Weakness was the worst of sins, in his eyes. Prison rape jokes were his go-to insult for weak men, which left no room for speculation around what he would think of such a thing happening to Tony. He was already livid about discovering him with one of his first boyfriends, Tony shuddered to think how he would have reacted if he knew that his own son – a Stark – was submitting to Obadiah Stane. It was a mercy, that Howard never knew, and testament to his neglectful parenting. His mother would have been sad to hear it, but wouldn't have done anything to help. Of that, Tony was sure. She was cowardly and her love for Tony never surpassed her instinct for self-preservation.

 

One thing Tony had which Peter hadn't, was closure. Stane was dead. He had suffered for what he did. He was no longer alive to be a danger to Tony, and no one person alive could make Tony feel the vulnerability that Stane once had.

 

Truthfully, he understood Peter's determination to deal with Westcott himself. He couldn't deny the satisfaction he'd felt at watching him fall to his death. But Tony had already been operating in a morally dark playing field. Peter was a good kid, and Tony couldn't bear the thought of how he might beat himself up over harming – or possibly killing – someone. Peodophile or not.

 

Tony's thoughts blissfully floated away into near-nothingness, appreciating the sunset and the lingering taste of pure Canadian maple syrup. Despite the persistent undertones of bleak pasts and resulting pain that blanketed the tower on most days, he was pretty content. Peter had awakened a paternal instinct in him he didn't know he had. He had already proved that he was nothing like his father. It was a huge comfort to have that self-doubt lifted from his shoulders.

 

He still busied himself with his work. On some days, he and Peter would work together as if nothing had changed. He could see the kid's health improving. He was putting weight back on which Tony hadn't even realised he'd lost until some of the colour and roundness reappeared in the boy's cheeks. His relapses were gradually happening less and less often. Tony could tell that he felt safe here. Safer than at May's. Not by any fault of her own, but more likely because the tower was so secure and quiet, and he could count on being able to talk to somebody who really understood what he was going through.

 

Things were far from perfect, but they were okay for now. Things were looking up.

 

Maybe it was time for him to help himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is not the end! i have more ideas, and i might make it into a series. but, i would like to hear from some of my readers before i publish any more. please comment and let me know if you're still interested.


End file.
